


Something To Consider

by BenevolentErrancy



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Belts, Canon-Typical Prostitution, Canon-Typical Violence, Enthusiastic Consent, F/M, Light BDSM, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Under-negotiated Kink, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:29:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23635366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BenevolentErrancy/pseuds/BenevolentErrancy
Summary: Dandelion makes a suggestion.Geralt goes too deep into his own head over it.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 33
Kudos: 198





	Something To Consider

“You horse's arse, Dandelion,” Geralt groused, incensed, as he rumbled around their camp. There was nothing productive to be doing, but irritation had him not quite ready to settle for the night. Dandelion had no such problem and was reclining in his bedroll, amused. 

“I did say I was sorry,” he said. “How was I to know! How could I guess that a cockatrice would take exception to such a very small, very quiet movement on my part?

Geralt tugged off his surcoat, grumbling. It was half shredded and positively filthy. It had taken him long enough to save up for the warm, woolen garment that was meant to keep him dry over the autumn.  _ Small, quiet movement _ , indeed. He had practically positioned Dandelion himself, given him very specific instructions to stay out of sight among the copse of scraggly mountain trees, but had the bard listened? Oh no, he had needed a better look, and had decided to do so by sliding down the loose slate in a clatter that could have woken the dead. Of course the cockatrice had whipped about to inspect the noise.

“By using an ounce of common sense?” Geralt suggested tartly.

From the corner of his eye he saw Dandelion shake his head fondly and turn over on his sleeping roll. Geralt focused back on his own clothes, more annoyed at not being taken seriously, at Dandelion not taking the threat posed to his  _ life _ today seriously. A cockatrice beak would have shredded him like wet parchment. Geralt yanked off his boots and shoved them next to his sleeping roll. The leather was scuffed, because he’d grabbed onto the cockatrice’s damn tail when it had decided to lunge at Dandelion. He had managed to be cumbersome enough to the monster that Dandelion had managed to scramble away, but Geralt had gotten dragged over what felt like half the ridge, barely avoiding being skewered by the thing’s tail, before he’d finally found his footing and hacked the thrice-damned cockatrice’s leg off.

“Or barring that, as it would first mean being in possession of some which I realize may be an unreasonable request for you, you could have simply  _ listened to me _ .” Geralt whipped his belt off hard enough for it to snap, sounding as tense as he felt; he tossed it aside with his boots so his tunic could hang loose. “Truly Dandelion, what—”

He stopped mid-sentence, thrown off track by the sudden unexpected scent of arousal curling in the air. Baffled, he turned to face Dandelion but the troubadour was still curled up on his bed roll, his back to Geralt. Geralt frowned; the poet could be rather like a deer in rut at times, nosing at all and sundry, but usually there was at least some clear indicator of what it was that had caught his eye. And Geralt scolding him at the edge of a muddy field seemed an unlikely source since it was both highly unromantic and common enough without ever having stirred such a reaction before. He half-expected to see some wayward milkmaid or shepherdess on a midnight stroll through the empty fields.

He could see nothing, even with the waxing moon and clear evening laying the field bright and unobstructed for someone with Geralt’s sight. He pulled a face at Dandelion, even if he couldn’t see it from his position. Well, Geralt wasn’t above prodding at the poet. Dandelion knew damn well how good Geralt’s nose was, and given that Dandelion was one of the few humans Geralt had ever met who wasn’t horrified or disgusted by his monstrous senses, it was satisfying to be able heckle him with them from time to time. Especially when Geralt was already frustrated.

“Is it your own near death experience you find so arousing?” asked Geralt dryly. “Please tell me it's not thoughts of the cockatrice.”

“I was in no danger, you were there,” Dandelion said flippantly. 

Geralt wasn’t sure whether he felt warmed by Dandelion’s unflinching confidence in him, or rather like throttling his foolhardiness, so he lay both feelings aside. “You're dodging the question.”

“Hm,” was all Dandelion said, not turning to look at Geralt. Geralt narrowed his eyes and leaned in closer. Were the tips of his ears  _ red _ ? It took a lot to embarrass Dandelion. Frustration gone, replaced fully with amusement, Geralt settled himself on his own bedroll and used his foot to nudge insistently at Dandelion’s back.

“You may as well own up. I know you as well as you know yourself, and we’re both aware you can’t keep a secret for long. What has you so alert? It can’t simply be pent up energy, we both got more than our fair share of exercise today.”

Geralt made to poke at Dandelion again, but Dandelion rolled over and swatted him away. “Don’t touch me with your feet! Eesh, truly Geralt, what are you, a child? Very well, very well! It was just... I rather thought you were about to belt me for a moment there.”

That drew Geralt up short. His expression didn’t change so much as freeze, as a chill settled through him. “I wouldn’t do that,” he said immediately. Sometimes he might consider it, when Dandelion was at his most annoying, but the thoughts were passing and the threats insincere. He knew his own strength and Dandelion’s for that matter, and he wouldn’t dare lay a hand against him in such a way. More than that, he knew their friendship, and the thought that he would do anything so brutish, that he would do anything that could sever that bond no matter how annoyed he was, was untenable. The fact that Dandelion had considered that of him…

Dandelion sighed loudly, sounding put upon, and sat up. “Not like that, you bore,” he said. “Well, perhaps a bit like that. You said so yourself, Master Bloodhound, that it wasn’t exactly  _ fear _ I was luxuriating in there…”

Geralt’s eyes darted downward. Dandelion still wore his trousers from that day, and they were tight enough to give confirmation to the scent Geralt had picked up. If anything, they tightened more at Geralt’s attention.

When Geralt said nothing, Dandelion sighed again and shook his head. “My dear witcher, for such an old man you can be quite a maiden at times. Perhaps when you snapped that belt of yours I had a moment where I considered you stripping me of my clothes and pressing me against the ground…” Dandelion’s eyes were beginning to glaze a little as he considered Geralt and whatever story was writing itself behind his eyes. He half looked like he was about to compose. Geralt was transfixed as Dandelion’s tongue darted out to wet his lips. “Or perhaps spreading me out over your knee. Mm, yes, that visual  _ is _ better. And you bringing that belt down on me with all that witcher strength… The sound of it would resound beautifully in such an open space, and there’s no one about, I could cry out as much as I wished…”

Geralt grimaced at that. The idea of bringing his full strength down on Dandelion… that mental image was not doing for him what it was clearly doing for Dandelion, however inexplicably. He could not imagine someone  _ wanting  _ a belting, unless it were a choice between that and a whipping. Dandelion and his predilections could be a mystery at times, one that Geralt did not generally feel inclined to explore too deeply. However, that being said, there were certainly other things about Dandelion in this moment that  _ were  _ doing it for him. This wasn’t exactly how he had been thinking about ending his day after being covered in hot cockatrice viscera, but Dandelion was sprawled shamelessly before him and Geralt was willing to accept this evolution of things with no argument. In any case, this at least was much more familiar territory.

“There’s other ways I can think of to make you scream,” Geralt said bluntly, moving from his bedroll over to Dandelion’s. Dandelion perked up at that, looking delighted at the direction things had gone. Before Dandelion could act, Geralt caught the other’s face in his hands, and pressed down in a rough kiss. Dandelion surged up against him, kiss becoming crushing, his arms wrapping around Geralt’s neck.

Geralt held onto Dandelion, trying to guide the pace — there was no rush, after all. They were far from any buildings, tucked between the edge of a disused field and the woodlands they’d just finished trekking through. With no road nearby, no humans should be along, and with a stinking cockatrice head wrapped up on the other side of the fire no creatures should be feeling brave enough to investigate their little camp. They could take their time. Dandelion had other feelings though. He had soon enough broken the kiss and was nipping along Geralt’s jawline and down his neck, tugging at his tunic impatiently. Not surprising, perhaps: Geralt could feel how hard Dandelion was against his thigh.

Geralt pushed him down against the bedroll and, rather than removing his own shirt, began the tedious task of unfastening the seemingly hundreds of ties on Dandelion’s top.

“I’m all for romance and sweet courting,” said Dandelion rather irritably after several moments, “but you could get on with it.”

Geralt scowled. “It’s your own fault. This is just another reason why doublets are a nuisance. I’m keeping a list.”

Dandelion snorted. “I look forward to reading it. Shall I give you my own treatise on that surcoat of yours? Or the headbands? I have some thoughts. Oh let me, you’re so  _ slow _ , Geralt.” Brushing aside Geralt’s hands, Dandelion quickly divested himself of his layered tops, making some crude suggestions about how Geralt must get along with corsets if he’s so flummoxed by something as simple as a man’s fastenings. Geralt rolled his eyes and attempted to make Dandelion’s task more challenging by teasing at the trousers the poet still wore, palming against his erection. It did slow things down, but not in a way Geralt minded at all. Finally though Dandelion’s chest was bare, and Geralt tossed his own shirt aside before leaning back down to continue things, hands now gripping Dandelion’s bare waist.

Dandelion though gave his shoulders a shove. “Switch with me. There's stalks jamming into my back like this, so I'm going to ride you instead.”

Geralt snorted but complied, letting Dandelion push him over. “So I can be the one with stalks jabbing my back?”

“You're sturdier,” said Dandelion reasonably, shucking aside his trousers and beginning to unlace Geralt's. “Besides, any time you ride me I feel like my hips are being crushed.”

Dandelion may have started more ready to go, but it didn't take long for Geralt to fall in stride. Dandelion straddled his thighs, running a hand up and down Geralt's cock, his gaze wholly and hungrily focused on his ministrations. He so clearly  _ wanted _ and Geralt trembled with warmth, an anticipation that ran up and down the length of his spine. He reached out, one hand groping for his pack to find the oil they saved for this sort of thing, the other curling around Dandelion's arse, thumb stroking at the soft flesh.

Dandelion pushed back against his hand, grin full of promise. Then Dandelion's eyes fluttered away from Geralt to rest instead on the little pile of supplies next to Geralt's roll. Bags, boots, and belt. Dandelion's cock twitched. 

“Circling back to my early suggestion…” said Dandelion.

Geralt rolled his eyes. This was simply the nature of sex with Dandelion; the man was perfectly happy to have side conversations so long as he had the breath to do so. Geralt decided he'd best change that and, having found the oil, busied his fingers in making sure Dandelion had other things to think about. 

It worked for several whole seconds. 

“My early suggestion,” Dandelion continued, half wheezing as he squirmed and twisted against Geralt's fingers inside him.

“Mm,” Gestalt hummed. Dandelion's wriggling was creating a delicious friction against his own groin and he was only partially listening. 

“How do you feel about—  _ ah!  _ Yes, like that— about the belt?”

“How do I feel about whipping your arse? Admittedly I sometimes fervently wish to, but usual not in this context.”

Geralt ran his free hand down Dandelion's ribs where he knew the man was ticklish and pressed in another oil-slicked finger. Dandelion half-shrieked in surprise, gasping and writhing against him, rubbing up against Geralt's cock in a way that had the witcher stifling his own moan.

“I'm serious!” said Dandelion, as he tried to catch his breath. “You may doubt it, and it has to be—  _ ah! _ — done right of course, but—  _ yes, _ right there— but when it is, why then it’s positively… and by you?  _ Oh! _ Yes, alright, enough teasing, move your fingers, I want on you. "

Geralt's, and Dandelion's for that matter, focus was fully taken up for the next several moments. Geralt tossed his head back against the bed roll with a groan as Dandelion lowered himself onto him. He was thinking of nothing but Dandelion's breathy moans and incessant whispered adorations as he spread himself open on him. Geralt clung to Dandelion's thighs just to anchor himself among the sounds and smells and sensations of it all; it was intoxicating. 

“Oh you're a marvel,” Dandelion murmured, dragging a hand down Geralt's stomach. “We don’t do this near enough. Help me out, will you? Don't make me do all the work.”

Geralt obliged, hands wrapped around Dandelion's hips, helping support him as he began to rock up and down. 

“But Geralt, the belt? Will you consider it? I know it may go against that code of yours or what have you, but frankly I feel your code has no business joining us in the bedroom — or in a filthy field as it so happens.”

With the way Dandelion was carrying on, Geralt was now beginning to consider what it could be like. Dandelion did nothing by halves, and his passion over anything could be heady. The idea of him so wanting and needy over something Geralt could give him… Though still, the idea of hurting him was less appealing. How could Dandelion look at him the same if he intentionally harmed him? Those two thoughts were gnawing at each other and were not helping the current situation at all. “Would you stop talking?” Geralt grit out. 

Dandelion obliged, however briefly, by dropping down so suddenly he took Geralt’s breath away and caused all other thoughts to stutter to a stop, before beginning to settle into a quicker pace.

“You needn't —  _ mm, yes let me feel your nails _ — fret about hurting me! I tell you that often enough as is, surely you realize? And the stimulation it adds, my friend, you can't—"

Geralt pulled Dandelion down by the shoulders, shoving their mouths together. It was a somewhat awkward angle for Dandelion but based on the noises he was making against Geralt's mouth he wasn't complaining. Needy, appreciative, pleading. Geralt jerked his hips and the pitch jumped.

“Alright,” Geralt panted. “I'll consider it.”

“Excellent!”

-

Geralt did consider it. At length. And he was running himself in circles about it. Dandelion, for his part, having made his opinions very clear, did not bring it up again, giving Geralt plenty of time to worry at it, like a horse that had gotten the bit between his teeth.

They separated again briefly, with Geralt heading east to scour some of the villages that lined the Velen swamplands as they often had contracts being offered when the terrors of the swamp got too bold. Dandelion meanwhile would divert towards a harvest festival they’d heard mentioned, as he felt no urge to trudge through marshwater in early October. They arranged for Geralt to loop back to the village that the festival was being held in once he had finished any contract he could pick up. If he wasn’t back by the end of the month, then they would both accept that they had missed each other and continue on separately for the rest of the season and try to meet up again in the spring.

Geralt did find a couple contracts, though it was nothing particularly impressive, nothing Dandelion would feel like he had missed out on certainly. Two different drowner nests had cropped up, too close to one another and the slimy bastards had gotten territorial with each other. The scrapping had ended up driving them to expand their respective territories and push into the nearby fishing village. It was an easy enough job, even if it took a while to pick them off without getting mobbed, and then to hunt down any stragglers and destroy the nests so that new drowners wouldn't immediately move in. The pay he got hardly made it worth the time he took on it, but Geralt was in need of the coin. Especially since he would either need to buy a new outer coat or pay someone to repair his current surcoat; all he had was his travelling cloak which was fine as a rain-slick but lousy as a source of warmth.

The only other contract he picked up he got as he passed through a slightly larger town a little ways off the swamp. This town was at least big enough to have more than one street, as well as a tavern and a smith and even small flock of women that Geralt right assumed were whores by the way they gathered outside the tavern and eyed him. This contract wasn’t posted, but rather he received it when a girl came running to him, exclaiming that her father had work for him at their orchard. Apparently they were being raided by Scoia'tael warriors. Geralt had no desire to fight the elves, but he heard the talk of the girl’s father and uncle about their plans for the “thieving Squirrels” and so he took the job in the hopes that at the very least a peace could be made.

It turned out to be an easier job than the drowners. The fact that Geralt was able to so easily pick up their tracks in the orchard already told him this couldn’t be Scoia'tael, and sure enough he found a sad group indeed. A couple skin-and-bones true blooded elves, but largely they were half-starved half-elves. Bastards, most likely, driven from their homes for being non-humans, banding together out of desperation. They had drawn their poorly made bows in threat when Geralt appeared soundlessly from the forest, startling them, but it hadn’t taken much work to scare the fight out of them and send them on their way, warning them of what the farmer had planned for them if they didn’t. It wasn’t a job that left a good taste in Geralt’s mouth, but at least this way no one was dying.

Back in the village, Geralt accepted full payment, making no comment about how he had gotten rid of the elves and allowing the farmer to draw his own conclusions. Better that way for everyone. The payment was generous, richer than the drowner contract had been, and for much less work. Geralt was about to set off back towards the harvest festival and Dandelion as planned when he paused, thinking.

The heavy coin purse dragged on his belt. He thought of Dandelion and his proposition. It had been some weeks, Dandelion was likely expecting some sort of answer. And Geralt didn’t have one. The more time apart he spent from Dandelion, the more intrigued he became. He imagined the way Dandelion would writhe under his hands once his skin had been made raw and sensitive. He imagined the way the troubadour, with his power tenor, would cry out. It was… intriguing.

And terrifying for the exact same reason.

Not a week ago, Geralt had crushed a drowner’s skull barehanded against a rock. It hadn’t been hard.

Could anyone truly look at his hands, and the terrible strength they could wield, and desire intentional pain from them? It was shocking enough at times that Dandelion would want to be touched by them at all, even when the touch was intentionally gentle. Geralt could be anxious enough about normal sexual relations, always checking himself to make sure he wasn’t pushing too hard, pulling too rough, gripping too tight…

He didn’t have the answers. But he now did have enough money in his purse to perhaps invest in some research.

He returned to the town and wandered to the tavern. The same three women sat there on the bench outside. They all had stitching out and were laughing loudly with each other. As he approached, they all looked up, appraising. He went to the one that seemed the most intrigued and least scared when she met his yellow eyes. He nodded to her, and she grinned, standing up and dropping her mending with her colleagues.

“Tiff,” one of the women said warningly, in a voice she probably thought was too low for the witcher to hear.

“Don’t get jealous, I’ll tell you what a witcher is like,” the whore, Tiff, whispered with a wink to her friend.

“Mabel will sit in the tavern, in shouting distance,” the first woman said, voice barely a murmur. “You call if…”

Tiff nodded, then waved her off playfully. Instead she trotted towards him, gesturing for him to follow her into the tavern. The barkeep barely glanced up as they crossed the common room and she led him without hesitation to a small backroom, simply furnished with a vanity, a wash basin, a chair, and a bed.

“Have you a name?” she said, as she shut the door. “I’ve always wondered, do witchers get names?”

“Geralt,” he said simply.

“Geralt,” she repeated with a purr, strolling up, dragging her hands over his shoulders. She was nervous, Geralt could tell, her pulse rabbiting in her chest, in the wrist that brushed him, but not enough not to be excited too. Someone who wanted out of this town and couldn’t find the money for it, if he were to guess. She wanted adventure and thought he might offer her a taste of that. “Your eyes are funny. So’s your hair. Is  _ all _ your hair white?” she asked, eyes lowering in what was probably meant to be teasing, alluring.

“Yes,” he said, rather than playing along. “But first, talk.”

“Mm, yes, for the best,” Tiff agreed. “A witcher, you must be good for coin…”

And so first the discussion waded through a price negotiation, and Geralt had enough experience with whores to know that, for a town this size, he was being fleeced, but he would rather have the woman feel fondly towards him when he began questioning her.

“Alright,” Tiff said, purring again. “And what would you like to do? How shall we start, Master Witcher?”

“First, I have questions about something,” said Geralt, keeping his tone clipped and matter-of-fact to avoid becoming embarrassed or uncomfortable. No shame in seeking out an expert when you were lacking knowledge on a contract, after all. “A sexual act I’ve never tried before that you may have more experience with.”

“Oh? Call me intrigued. What’s that?”

“Whipping someone with a belt.”

Her eyes immediately narrowed and her muscles tightened, fear clearly overtaking interest.

“Me or you?” she demanded. The anxiety in her voice was like a sour taste in Geralt’s mouth. This was the sensible response to the thought of being whipped by a witcher. Perhaps he should bring Dandelion here, he might learn a thing or two.

More likely he’d bed a thing or two and learn not a whit, so it would probably be a waste of time.

“Neither. I ask for a friend who… expressed an interest to me.”

“A friend,” she repeated, tone becoming tentatively amused once more. “She wants to be whipped? By you?”

“Seems to be the case,” said Geralt, not bothering to correct her.

“You don’t know how to whip someone?” she asked incredulously, glancing at the swords Geralt had left resting by the door.

Geralt grimaced. That certainly wasn’t the problem. He’d certainly done it before, and had it done to him too in his youth, and that didn’t help convince him it was something someone would  _ want _ . “No, I know how. Is it something that can be pleasurable? If so, how is it done to ensure it is?”

The woman’s eyebrows shot up. “Huh,” was all she said. She thought for a moment. “Huh,” she repeated. “Well, I’m no expert, but I’d say, yes, definitely can be. Here, sit down…”

-

It was an illuminating evening, to say the least. Tiff had discussed the times she’d had clients who had wanted to smack her about in some way or another and what was good, what was less good. “Don’t be a ploughing arse about it, if it’s sex, it’s sex, no need to skin the other person, unless she’s the sort to want it” were her words of wisdom. After that she’d smiled toothily at him and offered to do it to him, if he was so curious, but Geralt politely declined that offer. He knew what a thrashing felt like just fine, thank you. They had quite simple sex after that, Geralt thinking over what she said, and distracted enough between their discussion and making sure he didn’t hurt her thoughtlessly that he didn’t have the concentration for much else.

They both parted content enough. She left to rejoin her colleagues, and Geralt saw the third whore, Mabel, stand from where she’d been lurking and follow Tiff out, apparently satisfied that she was hale and healthy. Geralt stayed in the tavern, paying for space in the big public bed. The next morning, when he left to go reunite with Dandelion, he was treated to quite a lot of giggling from the three whores as they watched him march off to retrieve Roach from where she was stabled.

He rode slowly, allowing Roach the opportunity to rest and stop frequently to graze. There was no rush; he would get to the harvest festival with plenty of time, and the slower he went the more time he had to think.

-

Dandelion and Geralt sprinted into the inn in a very undignified flurry of wet hair and squelching boots. Fortunately, Roach had been stabled as soon as they had entered the city, in a public stable near the gate since the narrow, cobbled streets were a nightmare to ride down. Fortunately, they had also made it to a respectable public house just as fat raindrops were beginning to fall, still light enough that they slicked off their travelling cloaks. Unfortunately, it turns out Dandelion had run into the master of the house before, and had, in fact, fucked both of his daughters. Unfortunately, they’d been unceremoniously tossed out on their arses and were left to, unfortunately, scamper down the streets seeking another room for let as the rain turned from a sprinkle to downpour.

Dandelion was wheezing, fighting to catch his breath and laughing simultaneously as he tried to blow the wet, drooping egret feather out of his face. From the sounds of it, he’d mostly succeeded in inhaling it.

“A room,” said Geralt, trying to scrape his sodden hair from his face and to not look entirely pathetic under his soaked through travelling cloak.

Though given that it was hard to be scared of someone looking as much like down kittens as they did, perhaps it worked in their favour because the innkeeper snorted with amusement at their state rather than recoil from the witcher. “I’ve one left,” she told them. “The last gable room. Not much, but we’re choked to the rafters. Will that do you men?”

“It’ll be fine,” said Geralt, who was simply happy not to be out in the rain. He certainly didn’t believe she was trying to stint them, as the inn was practically humming with human activity, hidden off in various rooms. It was as busy as she claimed.

“My dear lady, if it is warmer than it is outside then you have already won our most ardent thanks,” said Dandelion.

The innkeeper laughed again, but she seemed to enjoy Dandelion’s manners. “Then you’ll be pleased. Cramped little room, but backs right against the kitchen chimney. You’ll be warm as coals.”

That certainly sealed the deal. Geralt passed over a few extra coins so that they could bring some cold cut meat and bread up to their room.

“The situations you put us in,” sighed Geralt as they entered the room. Geralt immediately had to stoop to ensure he didn’t crack his head on the low corner of the room. Fortunately the bed was below the tallest portion of the roof, tucked next to the strange, jutting shape in the wall that must have been the chimney. The innkeeper wasn’t exaggerating, the room was barely large enough for two people who were quite affectionate with each other to move easily, though it was also warm, as she had promised.

“A blessing in disguise!” exclaimed Dandelion, as he removed his travelling cloak, trying to find a place to lay it to dry. “Otherwise we have been sharing the common bed in that public house with who knows how many others, and we’d have left much lighter in coin but much heavier in fleas and lice, no doubt.”

It was true, this was some of the most privacy he and Dandelion had had in awhile, travelling along the main roads as they had been. Privacy, while still being in the throngs of human civilization. Geralt stilled, staring at Dandelion’s back in consideration while the bard stretched upon his toes to get the cloak hung up over the curtain rod. It made the short hem of his doublet ride high. Geralt’s heart hammered. There were people all around, but they had their own room. Now was the time. Who knew if they would get another chance like this before Geralt left for Kaer Morhen for the winter. Who knew if they would find another free private room in the city… and if they went back to the woods, then there would be no one around at all, they would be in complete isolation, making this equally impossible…

Geralt took a meditative breath, stilling his breath and heart as he might before a fight.

“Dandelion,” he said carefully, putting as much force into his words as he could. He was no player, but at least severity and annoyance were familiar enough emotions. “It’s your fault we were drenched at all. We’d be warm and dry right now, if your promiscuity and foolishness hadn’t chased us out of yet another establishment.”

Dandelion just laughed at him without turning around, simply moving on from his cloak to trying to wring the water out from his hat. “You aren’t angry about that,” said Dandelion with complete confidence. “I have done far worse! You aren’t cross. If you are though, how about I pay for hot water to be brought up, will that appease you?”

Geralt carefully removed his belt, looping it around his hands. “And if I say so no?”

Dandelion turned, a frown beginning to form, when he spotted the belt. If Geralt had had any misgivings about whether this was anything more than a half-cocked idea Dandelion had cooked up in the middle of sex, they vanished when he saw Dandelion’s pupils suddenly widen with lust, and his heartrate eagerly pick up.

“Ah,” said Dandelion.

When he said nothing else, Geralt had to fight down a grin. It didn’t play much into the mood. “This may be the first time I’ve seen you at a loss for words, bard.”

“I, ah, had rather assumed you weren’t interested in such things and that the suggestion was laid aside. I see I was hasty. I forgot what a damn patient hunter you are.”

Geralt stalked towards Dandelion, like the hunter he had accused Geralt of being. He took Dandelion’s cheek in his hand, brushed his finger along the fine stubble that Dandelion hadn’t had the chance to shave today. “Well, bard? Shall you appease me with hot water? Or shall we find another way?”

“Another way is good,” said Dandelion, a little breathily.

Geralt stared intently into Dandelion’s eyes but couldn’t pick up anything that wasn’t simple lust. There was no scent of fear on him. He trusted Geralt completely.

In some ways, that was more unsettling.

Geralt took a breath, steadied himself. Anchored himself with his other senses. He could hear the people in the rooms around them, could smell the scent of many unwashed travelers, could even pick up the smells of the kitchen, positioned above it as they were. There were people all around. It was crowded. Busy.

Dandelion trusted him, implicitly, and Geralt was capable of preparing to ensure that trust wouldn’t turn around to harm Dandelion.

“Good,” said Geralt. “Take off your clothes. It’s bad enough you got us both drenched without leaving puddles all over the place.”

Dandelion obeyed. Promptly. His shoes were kicked off, followed by his trousers, which he let drop around his ankles carelessly. When he had finished unfastening the doublet, Geralt stopped him with a hand between his shoulder blades. He helped pull the doublet off, tossing it aside, but left the shirt to hang loose, not as wet with the cloak and doublet above it, but still damp enough that the linen clung to him.

“That’s enough,” said Geralt. “After all, this is a punishment.”

He felt Dandelion shiver under his hand, but it was with anticipation.

“Go put your hands on the edge of the bed and wait for me.”

Dandelion did so, turning his back to Geralt. His blonde hair had lost its curl, hanging heavily around his face and down his shoulders; his pale thighs were framed by the long, hanging shirt. It was a mouth-watering sight. On display for him. Vulnerable.

Geralt paused. Took another breath. Composed himself. People all around. Plain, thin walls. Door firmly shut, but unlocked. He rolled his shoulders and flexed his hand around the leather, making sure he had a sense of his grip, his strength, his readiness. For all the play-acting that this was a punishment for Dandelion, any mistake made by the witcher now would be unforgivable.

“Geralt?” Dandelion called, though he didn’t lift his hands or turn. It was breathy and a little hesitant, like he was worried Geralt had left him like this. Of course, he couldn’t hear how much Geralt’s heart had sped up, not like Geralt could hear his.

Geralt paced forward, loudly. Dandelion shivered again at the sound of Geralt’s boots on the wood floor. Geralt couldn’t resist any longer, and grabbed hold of Dandelion, hands stroking up his thighs, pushing back the shirt so he could get an unfettered view of his arse. He brushed his hand over it, and he could  _ feel _ as well as hear Dandelion’s breath hitched. In fact, as he pushed the shirt further back, so it was rucked up past his ribs, Geralt could see it wasn’t only Dandelion’s breathing responding. So little, but the bard was already hardening.

“I know I’m a wonder, by any metric one to be appreciated, but Geralt it is cold. Do let’s continue,” Dandelion whined.

With a flick of his wrist, the belt snapped and cracked across Dandelion arse. It was barely a flick but Dandelion yelped and jumped, not expecting the blow.

Geralt recalibrated slightly. He hadn’t considered how soaked they both were. Wet leather hurt and Dandelion  _ was _ cold.

“Don’t be rude,” Geralt warned. He let the belt rest against the small of Dandelion’s back for a moment, letting the bard appreciate exactly how heavy the sturdy leather was. Dandelion’s breathing was already picking up. While Dandelion was focused on that, Geralt ran his hands over Dandelion’s legs and back, possessive, but also attempting to rub some warmth back into him before they began in earnest. “Do you remember why I’m giving you these?”

Now Dandelion did twist his head around, grinning back over his shoulder the best he could. “Because I ask so prettily?” he said. “And you can refuse me nothing?”

“Wrong answer,” said Geralt dryly, even if it was exactly correct. He dragged the belt back from Dandelion’s back, giving him just enough warning to brace his hands against the mattress again, before whipping the belt against him again, making Dandelion give a little gasp. “Perhaps you remember the drenching we got, and the role you played in it, bard?”   


Dandelion laughed, cheeky, “You needed a bath anyway! If anything, my dear witcher, I am providing a service!”

So that was going to be Dandelion’s game? Baiting him for more blows? Very well, it certainly made it easy.

He pulled his hand back and let the belt fly, harder this time. It tore a sharp little cry from Dandelion this time.

Geralt pressed a hand against Dandelion’s reddening rear, in the parody of a soothing touch. It made Dandelion moan as the sword calluses dragged against him.

“Shh,” Geralt warned. “You wouldn’t want others to hear you, would you?” Though unable to see Dandelion’s expression from where he stood, Geralt heard his breathing pause and his heart jump. So he was only just realizing the position they were in. There was very little between them and their neighbours. “Perhaps this will teach you to watch your tongue, bard. Though I doubt it,” said Geralt, pulling back for another strike.

He let three more crack against Dandelion in quick succession. He could see Dandelion’s shoulders tense under the shirt as he fought to hold back the noises that he must be desperate to make. Dandelion was never a quiet lover, and a thrashing wasn’t easy to take quietly. Even doing his best, noises slipped out, wet little gasps that went straight to Geralt’s cock. The next strike he directed at Dandelion’s yet untouched thighs.

This actually did make him shout, and then droop forward onto the bed, his hands clamped over his mouth while his shoulders shuddered.

“Are you actually able to keep quiet, Dandelion?” asked Geralt. “Or do we need to stop?”

“No,” gasped Dandelion.

Geralt hesitated. “No what, Dandelion? Aren’t you the one always telling me to use my words?”

“Don’t stop,” breathed Dandelion. “Please. Keep going. Geralt. Please.”

Geralt swallowed thickly. Desperate and needy. A heady feeling indeed, like he could give his friend exactly what he wanted.

“You need to be quiet then, Dandelion.”

“Help me,” said Dandelion, a touch of whine entering his voice again. “Give me something to bite at least, you brute.”

Geralt hadn’t considered that. It gave him pause. He wasn’t sure how he felt about Dandelion being gagged. But no, it needn’t be anything so complicated of course. He thought of his own experiences, with needing to bite into something to deal with the pain, to keep from crying out or cracking his teeth or biting his tongue. Something easy to spit out. Wouldn’t need to be anything sturdy, not for Dandelion, not for a game like this. He cast his thoughts around for something that would work.

Geralt crossed the room to his bag and rooted to the bottom. There was a small knife down there, one he rarely bothered with. It wasn’t anything special, a mediocre quality at best; he occasionally used it to cut meat or whittle. Nothing he cared about. He took out the dagger and dropped it back into the sack. The small, leather scabbard he returned with and pressed it between Dandelion’s teeth.

“Eugh! That tastes  _ vile _ —  _ AH! _ ”

Geralt had snapped another lazy crack of the belt across Dandelion’s thighs, a touch lower than the last, and hard enough to make him jerk against the force of it.

“Don’t drop it, Dandelion,” warned Geralt. “If you drop it, we’ll stop.” There, a failsafe built in. Geralt felt pleased with the idea. He gave the man just enough time to pick it up and reluctantly put it back between his teeth before he lay a third stripe across Dandelion’s thighs. This time the bard’s voice was muffled, even if his breathing became more like pants now that his mouth was forced partially open.

Geralt continued to work over Dandelion. He varied the speed and force of his blows. A couple hard ones in a row, soon layering over previous blows, making Dandelion’s backside practically glow. Then a few that were little more than taps, to give him a chance to get his breath back. The whole time he wheezed and gasped against the leather between his teeth, and writhed against the bed in so much as he could. His arms shook with the effort of supporting himself. His cock was completely hard and twitching with each new blow.

When one hit wrenched something that sounded closer to a sob than a moan from him though, Geralt decided that whether or not the scabbard was still between Dandelion’s teeth, he was done. The sound was not a particularly attractive one to Geralt, too close to a cry, making unease twist inside his gut. He placed the belt softly on the ground, and approached Dandelion as he trembled, waiting for the next blow. Geralt rested his hand against Dandelion’s backside once more, feeling the heat radiating from it. Not cold anymore. Dandelion groaned, at first flinching then pushing back against him.

“You took that well, Dandelion,” he said, raising his hand to first stroke it along Dandelion’s arse, and then the small of his back where there was no red, raw skin. It was perhaps a lie — at Kaer Morhen he’d have been laid into until he had the sense to stop whimpering and carrying on — but this wasn’t a punishment, not truly. It was a game. It was sex. He wouldn’t want Dandelion to be silent.

Dandelion nodded distantly. His jaw was still clenched around the scabbard, his elbows still locked to hold himself up. Geralt moved carefully, projecting his movement just in case Dandelion should not want to be so close to the man that had just whipped him. But when Geralt sat on the bed and reached out for Dandelion, the man practically melted into his lap, humming in a very self-satisfied way. He reached up to take the scabbard from Dandelion’s mouth, and he spit it out very willingly, grimacing at the taste once it was gone. Geralt tossed it aside carelessly — it was covered in saliva and had gouges from Dandelion’s teeth.

“So,” panted Dandelion, his head practically in Geralt’s lap. “Do I get my reward now?”

Geralt grunted. “Seems to me you were the one who admitted to wanting this.”

Dandelion’s rebuttal was very succinct: he started mouthing along the erection in Geralt’s trousers, forestalling any half-baked argument Geralt might make against a reward.

“Too many clothes,” groused Dandelion, and Geralt found himself agreeing. He helped Dandelion out of the soaked shirt first — wet not just from the rainwater anymore but sweat as well now. Then he stood himself and removed his own clothing. He wasn’t fully hard just yet, but he had already been on his way and Dandelion’s teasing just now was certainly helping things along.

“What do you want?” Geralt asked.

“I get to choose?” crowed Dandelion, pleased, as if he weren’t the one choosing more than half the time in any case.

“Well I can think of some positions that may be less appealing at the moment,” said Geralt dryly, returning to the bed. “I could suck you off.”

“I want you in me,” said Dandelion without hesitation.

Geralt raised his brow pointedly. 

“Don’t treat me like a flower, Geralt. Do you know how long I’ve waited for this? I intend to  _ relish _ it. I am going to feel every moment.”

“Are you ever,” agreed Geralt under his breath, but didn’t argue. Dandelion was already pulling the pillow towards himself, using it to help prop himself up.

“Your joints aren’t getting sore from all this?” Geralt asked, grabbing the oil. He’d already been supporting himself through the belting after all, his elbows must be getting stiff.

“Not as sore as my  _ arse _ , Geralt,” said Dandelion. “What do you think I’m going to do? Sit in your lap? Lie on my back and let you drag my poor body across the bedding?”

“You’re welcome to fuck me instead, might be easier on you.”

Dandelion once again turned, this time to glare at Geralt. “Did you not hear when I said I intend to feel this? Get on with it, or I’ll do for myself.”

“Alright, alright!” He swatted at Dandelion’s rear, making him groan. “Impatient.”

Geralt couldn’t deny the view this position offered, Dandelion’s backside rosy red and inviting. He’d be bruised and sore tomorrow, but for now it was a lovely thing indeed. Geralt leaned close, pressing kisses against the red marks. He continued his ministrations, making Dandelion moan and hum appreciatively, while he began to prepare him.

“Fuck, Geralt, you’re going to feel  _ amazing _ like this,” Dandelion was murmuring, still keeping his voice low, a deep timbre that did funny things to Geralt’s brain. “I’ll be completely spoiled for anyone else, you take such good care of me. Do hurry up though.”

“Spoiled is right,” said Geralt mildly. He crooked his fingers, feeling around until Dandelion yelped and bucked, announcing that Geralt had found the spot he was looking for. He pressed in again, one hand on Dandelion’s hips, fingers partially digging into the redding flesh, to keep him still.

Finally, at Dandelion’s keening insistence, he oiled himself up and pressed in.

Dandelion didn’t even bother trying to muffle the cry he gave as Geralt did so. He flung his head back, a litany of “Yes, yes, oh Geralt,  _ yes _ ,” streaming from his mouth absolutely wantonly. Well, at least these cries did simply sound like sex noises rather than like the bard was being flayed. He couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to come investigate, unless they had strong feelings about sodomy.

He thrust, shallowly at first, and then deeper until he was pressing right up against Dandelion’s red arse, making him gasp and buck at each movement, a steady stream of filth falling from his mouth. Geralt himself was wordless, simply breathing heavily, lost in the sounds and smells of Dandelion. He reached around to grab Dandelion’s cock, fingers running up and down it, brushing over the slit.

“You’ll make me come before you,” grit out Dandelion, as he trembled and shook under Geralt.

Geralt wasn’t bothered. It didn’t take much longer before Dandelion was shuddering and crying out, coming against his palm and collapsing bonelessly against the mattress. Geralt pulled out, taking himself in his hand; Dandelion reached out as well, though rather uncoordinated. Seeing Dandelion’s completely wrecked, flushed face, and feeling his palm on his cock alongside Geralt’s own, it wasn’t more than another couple strokes before Geralt followed Dandelion down.

-

Geralt had his face pressed against Dandelion’s hair, which was drying and frizzing by this point, while his free hand ran up and down his arm in comforting strokes. Dandelion was loose and content against him, and Geralt was both sated and relieved. Relieved that things had gone so well. Dandelion did, occasionally, have some good ideas. Very good ideas in fact.

“Well,” Dandelion murmured, “I think we can safely agree that I was right vis-à-vis the potential merits of belts, hm? Do let’s keep this in mind in the future. I may even need to find reasons to irk you. I’ve been working on a new song about Yennefer, perhaps I’ll sing that to you tomorrow, I think only she shall loathe it more. Mm, no, perhaps not, better to space such things out or you really will leave me behind if I’m limping along like a lame pony. A plague on it. We need to find somewhere to stay for more than a night.”

Geralt made a noise of agreement against the back of Dandelion’s neck.

Dandelion continued, more than happy to carry the conversation. “Though as much as I appreciated, well, everything about this, I can’t say my first choice for this would have been in a creaky old inn with walls as thin as vellum. I would like to congratulate myself on doing remarkably well under the circumstances but really Geralt, someone like you may not understand it but there’s a beautiful merit in being able to  _ voice _ one’s feelings in the heat of the moment!”

“Wanted there to be people around,” said Geralt sleepily into Dandelion’s hair.

Dandelion rolled over, eyebrows raised. “ _ Really _ ? Huh. I didn’t take you for an exhibitionist, Geralt.”

Geralt met Dandelion’s eyes uncomfortable, and frowned. “Not like  _ that _ ,” he said. He gestured vaguely, hampered by the fact that Dandelion was still lying on one arm, and his other was now wrapped around Dandelion’s back. “In case… something went wrong. I didn’t want you to be isolated. If you needed to… get away, there should be people around. Close enough to come if needed.”

Dandelion reared back, looking appalled.

“Did you try to set up your own  _ mob _ ,” he demanded.

“No—”

“You  _ did _ !” said Dandelion, aghast. “What, so that if I yelled too loud we’d have some peasants hammering down our door to chase us out of town?”

The soft, contented feeling that came after good sex was quickly curdling. “No!” said Geralt, feeling inexplicably angry at Dandelion’s misunderstanding. “I wasn’t trying to get you run out, I—”

“No, of course not,” Dandelion grumbled. He was sitting up fully, arms folded. Geralt felt the cold space he had left behind. “Just  _ you _ . You wanted them to come in and save the poor damsel and drive you out like a dog.”

“I didn’t say that,” said Geralt. He didn’t know why Dandelion was harping on this. He had taken a precaution that hadn’t turned out to be necessary. Things had gone well, better than well, why fret about safety nets that had been superfluous? “I just wanted to ensure this was  _ safe _ . That if I hurt you, then you had somewhere safe to—”

“You oaf! What did you think was going to happen? Do you think I would have suggested this if I thought you would truly hurt me, more than I wished? If I thought that you  _ could _ ? Geralt! You know me well enough to know what a coward I am! If I had truly thought, back in that forest when you’d first grabbed your belt, that you were capable of holding me down and flaying me until I was crying for help or fighting for escape then I would have fled long before!”

Geralt pressed his face into one of his now unoccupied hands, digging his fingers into his temples. This had all gone off the rails somewhere, and he wasn’t entirely sure where. Maybe right from the get-go. But there it was, that was the true fear, wasn’t it? Of awakening Dandelion’s apparently dormant sense of self-preservation, of doing something that would drive him away. Or worst, doing something that should drive him away, and Dandelion not being able to, or not having the sense to. Of him being truly hurt by the monster he chose to follow.

“Oh,  _ Geralt _ ,” Dandelion sighed. And then he was moving, settling himself into Geralt’s lap and draping himself bodily over his chest so that his chin was resting on his shoulder. Geralt shifted his arms so he had them wrapped around Dandelion and could support part of his weight, so he didn’t need to put too much pressure on his red, worked over flesh. “Be aware, I  _ will _ tease you mercilessly about getting so worked up over something like a little spanking, but later. I know you better, surely you must know yourself at least as well? You wouldn’t hurt me. I don’t know anyone with better control over himself than you. I’ve done much more reckless things with much less reliable people.”

Geralt huffed disapprovingly. That much was certainly true. After all, he had first met Dandelion moments before he’d gotten himself tarred and gelded for deciding to have sex with a woman beneath an outdoor stage. And his decision making had not improved much from there.

“Think rationally, my friend. Even if you had hit me too hard, misjudged your strength or mine, what would have happened? I’d have told you to lay off and you would have. The worst outcome would have been the fact that I’d have been very uncomfortable sitting for the next little bit.

Geralt sighed, and let his own head drop onto Dandelion’s shoulder. He all of a sudden felt he had no strength left to hold it up.

Dandelion hummed a bit, rubbing his hand up and down Geralt’s back, fingers tracing the familiar ridges of his spine, his muscles, his scars. 

“Perhaps it’s my fault,” he said eventually, heaving a sigh. “Perhaps we should have discussed this at more length before playing. I didn’t foresee you feeling so wretched over it, my friend. I wouldn’t have pressed for it if I thought it would be so worrisome or unenjoyable for you.”

“It wasn’t unenjoyable,” said Geralt. “It was fine…” He wasn’t entirely sure how to describe the belting itself. Had it been with anyone else, Geralt couldn’t say it would be something that would interest him. But the way Dandelion had moved and moaned and flushed and clearly wanted more, more, more; the way it had made him so pliable and sensitive afterwards. He had very much liked all that. And Dandelion had enjoyed it, but Geralt didn’t know how to explain how he fed off Dandelion’s pleasure, the way it filled him and buoyed him, without sounding like some sort of vampire. It pleased him to give Dandelion what he wanted. “It was  _ good _ ,” he said more forcefully, when Dandelion drew his head back a bit to examine Geralt’s face, looking unconvinced “It was, genuinely. I enjoyed myself, I enjoyed you. I was just… concerned.”

Dandelion shook his head but seemed convinced because he lowered his head back to Geralt’s shoulder. Geralt wondered if Dandelion felt as wrung out by all this as he did; he tightened his hold around Dandelion, changing it from just a supporting arm to a proper hug.

“Are we good?” Dandelion asked.

“Yes, Dandelion,” said Geralt, “we’re good. We’ll have to try this again, another time.”

“We don’t have to,” said Dandelion. “I am perfectly happy with our usual trysts, I can always find others to indulge this.”

“No, I want to try again. Assuming you do as well, after all this. Like I said, I… I did enjoy it. Especially now that I know exactly how much you do.” It was a considerably less loathsome thing than he had envisioned, tapping Dandelion’s arse just hard enough to make him squirm and gasp, and then getting to hold him and stroke him afterwards.

He considered, and then continued, “In Kaer Morhen, as novices, we’d use all sorts of different equipment to train our body, our reflexes, our skills… and if you messed up you certainly knew it. But our instructors would always ensure we brushed ourselves off and got right back on. They would tell us that we would ‘catch the fear’ if we stopped after a failure. You saw it, from time to time. Perfectly capable lads, lads who before would happily show off on that very same piece of equipment, would get shaky and stupid on something they should have been completely capable of handling, because they were just thinking about the last thumping they got from it, rather than all the times it went perfectly well. Not to say today was a failure, exactly, but…”

He felt Dandelion chuckle against him more than he heard it. “Yes, we wouldn’t want you to catch the fear of your own belt. That would be a rather shameful state for a witcher.”

This startled a laugh out of Geralt. Dandelion leaned back once again, so he could see Geralt’s face, grinning back at him when he saw Geralt’s soft, amused expression.

“We’ll try again. I’ll look forward to it. Though next time with no undertone of angry mob, if you please,” Dandelion said with a devious grin as he settled back to sit on Geralt’s legs. Until he winced and jerked up onto his knees instead, being reminded abruptly why sitting down was not the best choice at the moment. “...Though perhaps we’ll hold off trying again for a couple days.”

Geralt grinned broader. “Perhaps.”

“Alright, enough of this. Let’s lie down. My afterglow was horribly interrupted and I demanded recompense. Hold me if you like but make your choice now, because otherwise I intend to cling to your back like a possum for the rest of the evening.”

Geralt repositioned them so that Dandelion was curled against him and Geralt could practically wrap himself around the bard. Between the chimney at their backs and their early activities, the room was really quite cozy, made almost muggy by their drying clothes, and Dandelion was practically a liquid in Geralt’s arms and he stroked his hand up and down the man’s back. It didn’t take long for his breathing to begin to slow and his eyes to droop to slits.

Dandelion gave him a vague pat, sounding half-asleep as he spoke, “No one I trust more than you, my friend. Extend the same courtesy to yourself, and we may yet work all this out.”

Geralt had no response to that, so he didn’t try to craft one. He simply hummed, and accepted that warm flutter those words kindled in his core. Dandelion’s trust truly was an awe-inspiring thing and Geralt, in this moment, was happy to accept it as the gift it was.

**Author's Note:**

> Smut that I wrote in a binge over the course of about two days, as someone who basically never attempts smut... so I hope it was enjoyable. *iunno noise* The potential for Geralt and Dandelion's relationship is just too amusing for me not to play with.


End file.
